


curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back

by obliviates



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AND TRANS HANZO!!! Trans Hanzo, M/M, and gets exiled and seeks out jesse mccree, another sad man, good shit, in between all the sappy bullshit theres sex in here trust me, in which hanzo is a sad man, theres sex in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 18:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7373104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obliviates/pseuds/obliviates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’ll be darned. If it isn’t Hanzo. What brings you round these parts?” His accent was thicker. That was the first thing Hanzo noted. Even though he’d only been in the South again for about two months, somehow Jesse McCree had gotten more cowboy. And for the first time, it’s not just the two of them and his music and the simulated campfire. And for the first time, it’s not just the two of them sitting in a pleasant awkward silence, other than the occasional soft song on McCree’s guitar. And for the first time, Jesse McCree asks something Hanzo doesn’t know how to answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first actual fanfic in like two years, or a year, or basically a long ass fucking time, go easy on me because im a sad delicate flower. im probably going to write more just not in this specific verse. thanks to tumblr user milkcree who helped me a little w figuring out what i wanted to do w it.
> 
> a birthday present for my good friend oreo!!! i love you my palguy.
> 
> this is also the longest thing i've ever written in a one shot. pls forgive me if it seems scattered. includes trans hanzo bc i love him, and im gay.
> 
> reblog available here: http://scholtzia.tumblr.com/post/146829262936/
> 
> edited and removed something that may have been offensive, i didn't realize it and i apologize! )^:

Jesse McCree was not, nor had he ever been, necessarily stupid. There was something about the way he talked that strangers often deemed unintelligent, and he’d give them one thing: he wasn’t book smart, for certain. But he was a quick wit. He’d figure things out easily and before anyone else in the room even knew what was going on, except one. There was one person that could match him, in any situation; could even catch him off guard and throw curveballs at him in a way Jesse hadn’t seen in years. Hanzo Shimada.

 

Hanzo was guarded. Hanzo was careful, and calm, but with enough anger to bring storms to a hundred seas, enough anger to tear up the earth and the houses and structures, if he wanted to, surely. There was a hatred in him that McCree was sure must not have been there before, 10, 20 years ago, when he was young and it was just about his family business. Before it was so much more. Before it was everyone in danger, before it was about more than just his reputation.

 

But past all of that, McCree knew there was a spark in him that he couldn’t quite explain. Curiosity, maybe. He hated his brother, didn’t trust the cyborg in his life, didn’t trust that he lived after what he did to him. Everyone was sure he felt no guilt, no grief, no loss. Nothing but attention to duty. That was all it was. Eliminating Genji was  _ duty. _ But past the straight face and the calm, McCree could see a guilt ridden child in there, could see raw emotions stewing that he knew wouldn’t come out. Hanzo Shimada was careful.

 

It was all observations. Of course, if McCree asked him, there would be no answer, no heart spilling session where everything was revealed. The most they had was at night, when McCree would sing softly around their fake-campfires, their fondly created, simulated camp-fires, lulling everyone to sleep, sometimes Hanzo would sit with him for awhile. They’d share a few glances, McCree would give a wink here and there when he felt brave enough or when he felt the time was right, which always led to a flustered Hanzo who quickly gave him goodnight and left for his room. The most they had were the  _ maybe _ s and the  _ what if _ s. Maybe one day there would be more than just a wink and a flustered good night. He knew there was so much more to Hanzo than that. 

 

But for the second time, Overwatch was over.. There was peace (mostly peace) in the world, and he had no more excuses. He’d go back to his family, Jesse thought. Surely, the heir of the Shimada family can’t just be running around with no excuses anymore. So he’d go back to Japan, back to his home, anywhere but here, but it was a bar they met in. It was a bar, at 9 pm, when Jesse was doing a gig, that he swore he was seeing a ghost. Surely he was with his family. He didn’t rush his music along. If Hanzo was there, he would wait, right? Right. He didn’t go searching for him. Surely, if Hanzo were here he would either seek Jesse out or not seek him out, it would either be what he was here for or a pure coincidence. It was the bar where they met again.   
  
Before Jesse could say anything, right as he was sitting down, he heard a quiet, almost spiritless whisper of his name. When Hanzo looked up, there was no more light in his eyes. The man he’d known from just a month or two prior had changed. The spark was there, though dulled, and he looked older. Somehow, he looked so much older. He looked sadder, almost. He looked worn down, and tired, like he hadn’t slept in the whole time since their return. Like he hadn’t actually returned, he was just lost.

 

“I’ll be darned. If it isn’t Hanzo. What brings you round these parts?” His accent was thicker. That was the first thing Hanzo noted. Even though he’d only been in the South again for about two months, somehow Jesse McCree had gotten more cowboy. And for the first time, it’s not just the two of them and his music and the simulated campfire. And for the first time, it’s not just the two of them sitting in a pleasant awkward silence, other than the occasional soft song on McCree’s guitar. And for the first time, Jesse McCree asks something Hanzo doesn’t know how to answer.

 

He was an heir. Why was he here? Why hadn’t he returned yet. “Seeing the world,” Was the easy answer. And that’s the one he gave. He didn’t have to spill everything in his first night there, right? He didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to. Both of them knew that. There was an unspoken pact between them; if one went too far, the other would change the subject. That’s the way it always was. There was less risk that way. Less chance of hurting and more protection, protection neither of them were sure they even needed or wanted. “You’re sharing your music with the world now.” 

 

Both of them fell silent for a moment while Jesse thought about how to reply. “Everyone seems so hopeful. Everyone seems so encouragin’. Let the war hero sing his songs, don’t bother him none, let him share with us. ‘S what everyone seems to be sayin’.” He shrugs before he orders a drink. The wait isn’t long, but it also isn’t short. There’s a silence.

 

If there was one thing Jesse McCree didn’t want himself to be known for, it was being a hero. He wasn’t a hero. Sure enough, he did redeem himself, he did make sure that he fixed whatever he could of the problems  _ he  _ caused, and the criminals  _ he  _ helped. He used to be one of them. Used to? He’s not sure if he’d had more of a choice that he would have stayed in Overwatch. There is a possibility that given the chance, he would have left. He’s not a hero, he thinks. Though he knows that he had opportunity to leave. That he didn’t have to go to callback and he didn’t have to be with any of them, but they were his friends. He wanted to be around all of them.

 

He downs the drink that the bartender graciously hands him, and Hanzo watches. Somewhere in the back of his mind Hanzo wonders if this is a regular occurrence for the younger. It was weird to think of himself as the elder, but he reminds himself that older does not mean less equal. They are equals. They both have their dark moments in history. 

 

They get  _ quite  _ a few drinks in before anything of note starts to happen. Conversation was something that for once, was coming naturally, words flowing and flowing and spilling over like a waterfall, they’d both realized already that they said too much and yet not enough. Every so often, when there was a pause, it was soft, and comforting, and they’d smile at each other before breaking out in laughter. Everything was soft, and flowing, and the patrons of the bar were leaving except them, oh no, they sat and they talked. About too much and about not enough, about everything, and about nothing. And in their too drunk heads attached to their too drunk bodies, this was a good way to be.

 

And maybe when they were quite a few more drinks in, maybe it was instinct when Hanzo’s hand reached out for McCree’s, giving him a comforting squeeze before quickly releasing it. McCree couldn’t help but think things were looking up. Maybe he wasn’t alone anymore. And when the bar closed, they both walked down the streets in the dimly lit night, laughing at whatever jokes they could dig up from their muddy heads. None of them were clever and for once, Jesse felt there wasn’t a need for clever. All of them were poorly spoken and broken up, fractured English (at one point, he was sure they both finished the end of a joke in their native languages), but they still laughed. At the bright moon that left the streets dim in combination with the streetlight, at the cars driving places in the middle of the night making weird noises (and probably waking people up), at Jesse’s neighbour who had a ridiculous but cute dog mailbox, at the inside of Jesse’s living room which was littered with quite an amount of garbage that gave away way too much about his eating habits. Everything was laughter, even through the serious conversation Jesse found himself trying to have with his older.

 

“Where, ah-” He was laughing again, “You stayin’ in a hotel?” He watched as Hanzo shrugged a little bit, only a tiny amount of unease falling over his face. “D’ya live here now?” A shake of his head, and Jesse went silent, except for a thoughtful little hum. “Could stay here if ya don’t mind the mess.” He figured Hanzo wasn’t going anywhere in the state he was in anyway. Way too drunk. Way too.. Everything. The lights in the house were too much for both of their tired eyes, and he dimmed them, and they talked for a few more hours. 

 

* * *

 

 

Jesse McCree was not a sad man. After the disbanding of overwatch, he decided to take life slow, to live low (as he could), to keep on the good side of the world and hold up his good rep, to get free alcohol when it was offered to him for being a Great War Hero. (He gladly accepted that.)  And Hanzo was perfectly right when he saw him that night; he was, if anything, tired out and worn down, age hitting him harder than ever. Forty wasn’t old, he thought. He told himself, frequently. He was still young and popular enough to pick up a stranger here and there, still charming enough to leave hearts dropping at his feet, waiting for the day he’d pick one up and claim it as his own. So far that day hadn’t come. There was little hope in him that it ever would come.

 

The first day (not the night, not the drunken night where they stayed up until 4:53 AM, Jesse knows because he looked at the clock until he fell asleep) Hanzo spent at Jesse’s was something new for him. The abnormality of sharing a living space with someone was something he was probably going to have to get used to, again. In the days of Overwatch, their HQ were always pretty small, almost always sharing rooms. In the days before either of the wars, before the incident with his brother, their rooms were close, always running to each other in the night when one couldn’t sleep or thought of a funny joke. He was pleased to find, though, that Jesse himself was actually quite enjoyable company… for the most part. When it was just the two of them, no more fake campfires and people surrounding them, when it was  _ just  _ the two of them, and the walls, and the doors, and the feeling of safety and  _ comfort  _ they were so much more brave. 

 

Their laughs were louder and more genuine, their conversations weren’t just short formalities and there was a fire in them that wasn’t lit before. They’d been friends, somewhat friends, they’d been  _ something,  _ previously, but now they’re something else, Jesse thinks, and he thinks somewhere in his head that it’s a good thing.   
  
“People are listening to your stories now,” Hanzo notes, after the silence was too long to still be comfortable, thinking about anything and everything and nothing all at once, but he doesn’t look up from his mug where Jesse had made him tea (that was something new he picked up) when he talked, he just swirled his spoon around in the lukewarm drink and watched the way the foam moved in circles, entertained at least somewhat. “They used to be my favourite.” He adds, and Jesse isn’t sure why he’s being so open about this  _ now  _ but he’s not going to reject the sentiment. He supposes that now there’s no risks to fooling around, no consequences. No one was going to tell them here that their touches and looks weren’t appropriate, no one was going to tell them it wasn’t the time for this. 

 

It doesn’t go that far, anyway. It’s just a conversation. “Hero’s are one of a kind around here.” It’s barely above a mumble when he says it, like he’s not sure if he can even call himself that, like he’s not sure he should be called that. “Two of a kind,” He corrects, smiling at Hanzo. Two of a kind if you counted himself, because Hanzo was definitely a hero. Hanzo takes a good, hard look at him. He’s not the best at reading people, Jesse thanks everything for that. “Somehow.. I’ve got that quality to them.” The drawl in his voice is different than the one the night before, than how deep and thick it was. It’s something softer now, an afternote in his voice that Hanzo finds himself happy for. 

 

“Your stories will love on for ages.” He gives a confident smile. Like something out of a story book, something Jesse has either seen and ran from or seen and broken. But he stays this time and he takes a sip of his own tea, looking around a bit.

 

“Heros never die, ya know.” He pauses a little, because there’s a part of him that can’t believe those words seriously left his mouth. He doesn’t know where to look so he looks down at his tea, swirling it around in his glass with a spoon. “Their stories never die,” he corrects, almost as an afterthought.  
  


* * *

 

Hanzo Shimada wasn’t a daft man. He could tell from the little time that he stayed in his previous teammate’s home that he didn’t have the best way of living, not in a way in which he was judging, but just realizations that he wasn’t keeping as strict to his physique as he used to. There was an old spark that was hiding away, but a new, more curious spark that he found in McCree’s eyes; one they both felt, one they both had, one they both sought answers for in the other. They weren’t ready to do anything yet. Not kissing, not touching, though they had far reached curious glances. But the air filled with tension a knife wouldn’t cut, and he could feel somewhere in him gaining that same boiling curiosity - what would happen  _ if they did.  _ That was the problem Hanzo had with himself, he thought. There was a curiosity, always there, always one he had to fight down, always one he had to push back. Curiosity killed that cat. He tried to convince himself that was the end of the saying.

 

McCree cooks them both dinner, for the third night in a row. Hanzo offers, but Jesse insists that’s no way to treat a guest. Hanzo figures letting him do as he please is easier than arguing, and so he lets him, watching him intently as he does it, curious eyes wondering all over his body and his apron that says ‘kiss the cook’ as some sort of joke, and for awhile, he finds himself considering it. When he looks up, Jesse’s giving him this knowing smile, this ‘I definitely caught you staring at me’ smile, and Hanzo’s eyes go off to the side, ignoring the situation until he hears the clink of a plate.   
  
“Come here often?” Is the line he gets with his food, and he holds back a tiny snort of a laugh.    
  
“Oh, absolutely. The food here is incredible, and believe it or not, free of charge. I think it’s just because the chef’s got his eyes on me, though,” he replies, not glancing up from his food, and definitely  _ not _ making any sort of eye contact. “Every time I look up, he’s looking at me.”

  
And Jesse had to give it to him, he definitely  _ was  _ interested. Back before the three days where Hanzo had occupied his life and his thoughts and suddenly, very suddenly his everything, he hadn’t had much interest in everyone. There were a lot of people that  _ offered  _ \- in fan mail and letters to him and screaming from crowds in bars where the gigs he played sometimes got just out of control, but no one interested him. No one made him want to chase them, until he found the one person he was sure he still couldn’t have. That didn’t mean he couldn’t damn well try. He realizes he didn’t respond to Hanzo after about three minutes, and all he can seem to say is, “Maybe yer interestin’ to him.” That came out a lot different than intended. Interesting was true, yes. Jesse McCree was very interested in everything about that man. But he didn’t want to give the wrong idea; didn’t want Hanzo to think all he was was a fascinating sight. “Maybe it’s a secret.” 

 

Hanzo mumbled his before meal prayer (Jesse assumed that’s what it was), and they ate together, Jesse focused way too hard on the posture Hanzo was holding himself with, the way his broad shoulders went back and his back was straight and it was damn near perfect. Hanzo focused on Jesse’s sloppiness, the way he didn’t care what he got on him and how much of it, the way he smeared it onto a napkin - non disposable, he washed cloth napkins every day since Hanzo’d been there - watched the way he ate so hungrily and vaguely wondered what  _ else  _ he was hungry for, vaguely wondered if he’d be just as sloppy while eating a different kind of meal. He could feel his cheeks heating up, just slightly but definitely enough and Jesse had to stop himself from asking what he was thinking about. He was curious, but it could wait. Hanzo could get away with this one.

 

At the end of the meal, Hanzo was the one to take the plates to the sink and wash them, the tone in his voice when he was asking to help was almost so desperate that Jesse  _ had  _ to let him do it, had to take a damn moment to sit down and  _ think.  _ If that was what he sounded like over dishes, he wondered. He  _ wondered.  _

 

* * *

  
  
Jesse McCree was, as far as he was concerned, never a scared man. However that didn’t change the fact that waking up way too early from the feeling of being watched was ultimately the worst. His hand was on his pistol - his  _ actual  _ pistol faster than it would’ve taken him to aim it. He almost drew it, too, before Hanzo moved more into the picture, before Hanzo actually alerted Jesse of his presence. His hand retreated and he stared at the clock, making out a blurry 3:02 AM, before his eyes went to Hanzo, searching. Searching for something.

 

“You were screaming,” he says, and he doesn’t explain how or why he even heard that when he should have been sleeping too, doesn’t complain about being woken or look like he’d slept at all. “Is everything okay?”

 

There was a pause, before nervously, “I can show you screaming.” It was a defense mechanism at this point, do something, whatever he could to change the topic. Of course that was the only place he could think to change it to, and he mentally complained about it for the whole thirty seconds of Hanzo’s unamused stare that he gave. “In my defense I just woke up,” he adds, as if that would defend why he’s trying to make excuses in the first place. He’s only awake because Hanzo heard him screaming. He was sleeping soundly through his own screaming.

 

“Are you hurt?” The questions start again, and Hanzo sounds like he’s actually concerned, not just annoyed that Jesse tried to change the topic. And Jesse takes a deep breath, and gathers himself, turns on his bedside lamp, and shakes his head. He pulls up the covers - because sleeping naked was something he’d been accustomed to since returning to his own home - and looks down at his chest, at his belly, and he’s quiet for awhile.

 

With the sound of the fan creating noise in the room, it was barely audible when he spoke, Hanzo craning his neck foward and listening closely as if it was some secret that would get lost somewhere between the two of them. As if he couldn’t just ask again if he misheard anything. It was something Jesse didn’t normally talk about, but then again, he didn’t normally have anyone to talk about it with.  It was all white noise in the back of his mind, steadily growing and growing and fogging up things. “Just get these bad dreams sometimes,” he says, he whispers, and he looks for something to look at besides Hanzo’s concerned face. It’s hard to look at like this. He could feel hot, angry tears on his face and he did everything he could to keep his breathing normal, to keep himself from sniffling or wiping his eyes. Did everything he could to not alert the other man that he was crying, but the little tremors of his body gave it away to Hanzo. He kept quiet about it, just stood there, pretending not to notice the shakiness the other had about him.

 

It’s mostly silent for awhile, but Hanzo doesn’t leave. He gets comfy with his ass against the night stand, just enough to help support him, and he yawns, but he doesn’t leave. Jesse finds himself grateful for that. “You can lay down if yer gonna stay here, y’know. Ain’t gonna make ya stand there and watch me sleep all night. Unless yer into that.” It’s embarrassing when he says it. It sounded so good in his head but when it came out, he was asking someone to sleep in his bed with him, a friend, a- a  _ someone  _ who was  _ something  _ to him. He knew by far that he wasn’t in love with Hanzo. He was sure if this kept up he would get there, though, and he cursed himself as he couldn’t even bring himself to mind as Hanzo climbed into bed with him. There was a comforting tone in his voice when Hanzo pushed closer, waiting for Jesse to tell him to give him some space, but as he didn’t, he wrapped an arm around him and whispered to him for a good five minutes about how everything was okay now. It doesn’t take long for them both to doze off. And when they wake, they’re still intertwined like that, Hanzo’s leg somehow wedging between McCree’s legs, hands squeezed together, and he didn’t try to pull himself away. It was okay, because Hanzo understood.

 

* * *

 

Jesse McCree was never a romanticist, he thought. He loved romance, he loved the concept of it, but he wasn’t  _ good  _ with it. But they’d decided to take a walk. And fuck, if that’s not the most cheesy thing he’s done with anyone in years. The last time he  _ took a walk  _ it was to get fucked on a park bench in the middle of the night. This was different. This was so much different. Not to say that if the situation arose that he wouldn’t have sex with Hanzo on a park bench, because he would (he was sure he’d have sex with Hanzo damn well near anywhere Hanzo wanted). It meant more because of the company he was holding (also known as, Hanzo.)

 

It was eight pm, they’d had their dinner a few hours ago, the night was young and the sky was gorgeous. Jesse made it his mission to see things like this. To go out and to see the world and not just fight in it or live in it or die in it. To go out and see the world and be a part of it, make memories in it. That was how he wanted to live his life. To be more than just a hero, but to be a person, too, to be someone who gets remembered by someone specific when he passes on, if it’s him that goes first.

 

As much as Jesse makes a point to avoid it, they do pass through a park. Jesse doesn’t look at any of the people doing any of the things they are doing there, because he knows first hand what people do in parks at night. Instead he places his attention on Hanzo, who’s shivering, and at the same time, trying to pretend the cold isn’t bothering him. He was used to the cool, windy nights, along with the dry, hot ones; he’d grown up in them. Maybe it was a different story for Hanzo. He didn’t question it as he moved to place his serape - the only thing other than his actual clothes that he was wearing - on Hanzo, who gave him an appreciative smile.    
  
“It’s warm,” he points out. Obviously it’s warm. Jesse doesn’t feel the need to point that out, because Hanzo laughs at himself, and he bundles into it. This is the part where he dies at age 40, from his not-boyfriend not-just-friend companion was fucking adorable, and he hated it. The thoughts were increasing, he found, and it was almost frightening the way almost every thought was on Hanzo. He liked it too much. He liked Hanzo too much, or,  _ still _ liked him too much.

 

“It’s pretty out here,” is the next thing either of them say, and that’s Hanzo, staring in wonder at the unfamiliar skylines and lights he could see in the distance, illuminating most of around them, but not so that they couldn’t see the stars. It was clear, and the air smelled fresh, not like factories and not like gunfire and not like whiskey; it was a mix of scents that created the sleeping city it was. There was a familiarity that seeped in as Jesse lit his cigar, one that was both welcome and unwelcome. He couldn’t say he hated the smell, because all he thought of when he smelled it  _ was  _ Jesse, but the thought of potentially losing him to something linking to his smoking after being in  _ wars  _ together was a horrible thought in itself. 

 

A minute passes and though he expects Hanzo to say something else, there’s nothing, just a comfortable silence. “I should show ya around sometime. Got all these pretty sights ‘round here that they probably ain’t got back in yer country, though I’m sure it’s just as gorgeous.” Hanzo swore his accent grew thicker as the night went on, the drawl dripping from his words in a way that left Hanzo not quite sure how to feel with himself. And it was his curiosity that got to him again, wondering if maybe when he was turned on it was deeper, wondering how much deeper and thick the accent got, wondering if his words would slur together and melt in Hanzo’s ears.

 

“It has quite a lot to offer. It’s a charming place,” Hanzo adds, wonder still showing in his eyes as he lets them wander the environment around him. Maybe one day he’d take Jesse to Japan and show him the wonders there. Maybe there’d be a day safe enough for him where he could do that. Maybe he should stop thinking about it, but he doesn’t. He buries himself a little further into the serape, head bogged down with more  _ what if _ s and  _ maybe _ s and  _ hopes _ . Jesse pushes closer to him when he sees the worry in his eyes, something he’s holding in, but he doesn’t blame him and he doesn’t ask, just takes his hand and leads him in a direction they hadn’t yet been. He paints a story that Hanzo doesn’t completely listen to, but appreciates nonetheless, before they head off to their home. Jesse’s home.

 

It’s been a habit, now, that Hanzo just climbed into bed with Jesse at the end of the night, keeping nightmares away as best as he could and soothing him when they did come along, keeping him company in the late nights where they would both drink a little and pass out laughing. Tonight was a tired night, though, after a day where they’d done a lot and had just gotten home from exercising, and he took a deep breath in. Tonight was a tired night. But Jesse took to sleep fast, and Hanzo was awake, so awake, once again left to think about something and everything and nothing. The something was Jesse McCree, the man who went from being an occasional glance and wink and soft songs to a man who was breathing life into him, showing him wonder in the world he didn’t have time to notice before. The everything was also Jesse McCree, how he was in his bed and nearly pressed up against him and still wearing the serape which he refused to take off, the comfort of it too much to willingly part with just yet, and how his smell was engulfing Hanzo. The nothing were the quiet moments where the thoughts became too much and Hanzo had to stop himself from thinking about it, had to stare at the speckles on the ceiling or the pattern on the curtains and bedsheets, to no avail. 

 

He can feel a heat between his legs he’s sure that’s been there for awhile, one he was trying so hard to ignore, but clearly things were not going his way tonight. His thoughts were wandering, his hands were wandering, and when he looked over, he was so glad Jesse was asleep. Trying not to wake him, he shifted in the bed a little, creating a space between the two of them so the movement of his arm wouldn’t wake Jesse up. His teeth were clenched around his lip and his hand slid down into his boxers (which both of them had taken to wearing at night), moving to rub a few circles at himself with a shaky gasp he  _ hoped  _ didn’t go past his teeth. There was a thrill in having to be quiet, he found, a thrill in having to make sure he didn’t get caught, and as he moved his fingers over himself in a slow rhythm (pressure not too soft but not too hard), all he could do was pull the serape up and take in deep breaths of the other’s smell.  The most exciting thing for him is that Jesse could wake up any time. And though he just wanted to get it over with, maybe Jesse would have held him there. Maybe Jesse would have made him wait. Maybe Jesse would have gotten between his legs and ate him like his last meal. He didn’t know, and his curiosity was killer. He came, quickly and easily, engulfed in everything about Jesse McCree and blissfully trembling a little as he lazily glanced over to see if Jesse was still sleeping. (Thank god he was.) 

 

* * *

 

Jesse McCree was not an insomniac, however, he didn’t sleep at all the night prior. One of them, the apparently less slick of the two, had gotten a perfect night of sleep, and he, the one who had to pretend to be sleeping, did not get any. Instead, he had to listen to noises - noises he didn’t 100% understand except that they were wet, and whines, and definitely noises of sexual intent. He got to feel the bed move and the other tremble just out of reach, and when his breathing shifted to more calmer breathing, Jesse got to roll over and see the other buried in his serape, taking in his scent like he needed it. There was a part of him that wanted to do the same. It took him fifteen minutes thinking about Hanzo getting off to his scent - to  _ him  _ before he caved, giving in and half heartedly touching his dick.

 

He didn’t sleep at all. He couldn’t sleep at all. He spent the whole night staring at Hanzo who somehow didn’t wake up from being stared at, for the entire night. It was too much. Too damn much.The morning is slow and though Hanzo gets up and goes about his morning ritual, Jesse just lays there. Just a week ago he was a sad man drinking in a bar alone, and now he’s a man thinking about drinking in his room all day because otherwise his whole day is going to be devoted to how Hanzo just got off to burying his face in something that  _ smelled  _ like him. 

 

For a while, Hanzo left him alone. Didn’t question why he was laying in bed still at 11 am, or 12 pm, or 1 pm, or 2 pm. By 3 pm, Hanzo found himself walking curiously back to Jesse’s room, to the back of the small one level house, opening the door to his room. Eye contact. That was good, Hanzo thought. He’s not dead. A bonus.

 

“Did ya need something?” There’s something in his voice that seems off, seems different. He looks exhausted, Hanzo notes, and he moves over to sit on the bed next to him. This is something new. Usually he was out of bed making breakfast by ten, and it’s not like Hanzo only wanted him downstairs only for food (he’d settled on having toast), but he missed the company. And more than that, the break in the tradition seemed almost wrong.    
  
“Not.. Particularly, I just. Wanted to make sure you were alright back here.” He did everything he could to make sure his voice didn’t shake as he spoke. And god, was it hard. There were quite a few things that he knew could have gone wrong, quite a few things he knew he’d did that could put McCree off toward having him there. And McCree wanted to scream, no, it’s not what you think, you haven’t done something wrong. And technically, he hadn’t. There was nothing wrong with getting off to the scent of your newly made best friend, right? Completely and totally a normal thing to do. Jesse was too old to be feeling these sorts of feelings on their own, the  _ oh my god what if he likes me _ feelings. The feelings that left his heart fluttering in his stomach and his thoughts drawn somewhere else, and when Hanzo answered him, he barely even noticed at first.

 

Jesse had to take a moment to think before he answered. Of course, he was alright. More than alright. The only problem he had was that he couldn’t stop thinking about his roommate getting off and  _ what if he’d helped. _ He could only hope that the other would get so much louder, tremble so much harder. He wanted to see Hanzo Shimada squirming underneath him, and he didn’t even realize it until that moment, when Hanzo was staring at him worriedly and waiting for an answer. He mumbled a soft ‘fuck’ before he had to stop himself from finishing  _ that  _ thought, and did his best to pull off a smile. “Yeah, doin’ okay. Have a bit of a headache, but can’t really do much about that now can we? Jus’ gotta wait it out fer now. Ya don’t gotta worry about me, though. I can take care’a myself.” In Hanzo’s opinion that wasn’t convincing. But he left the room regardless, letting Jesse get the rest he probably needed, only coming back every once in awhile with glasses of water and inquiries toward his condition. It’d been a long day.

  
  


* * *

 

Hanzo Shimada was never the slickest man. He was smart, and he picked up on things normally, but he wasn’t sneaky. He discovered this when half way through ramming his fingers in him, he felt an arm grasping his, and found eyes meeting his. He froze. 

 

It wasn’t that Jesse wasn’t a patient man, gladl, he would have tried harder to wait for Hanzo to finish with himself, but he couldn’t take it. The noise was like candy to him, and he ate it up and still wanted more. The little wet sounds coming from - coming from  _ whatever  _ but definitely Hanzo were driving him wild, and he could feel his dick pressing against his boxers for the second night in a row. “Hanzo,” he whispered, and it was so quiet, and he was nervous, and his voice was low and deep and gravelly.

 

Hanzo was nervous, too, and he had to take a moment to yell at himself because what the fuck was he doing? This wasn’t his bed, or his boyfriend’s bed, or anywhere he should have been doing that but here he was, and there McCree was, and he was ready to hear disgust in Jesse’s voice when he talked, but it wasn’t there. His name when spoken had no sound of disgust. “.. McCree?” He questioned, his own voice so much whinier than normal, and he could yell at himself for that too.

 

“I need ya to answer me, here. I need to make sure I’m not hearin’ things, not imagin’ things I want to hear. Are ya fuckin’ yerself right now?” And Hanzo swallowed hard, because he definitely was. His fingers were knuckle deep in himself and he sure as hell wasn’t ready to pull them out yet. With an ashamed little noise, he nodded, hoping simultaneously that the light was bright enough for him to see the answer, and that it was dull enough that he wouldn’t. And he couldn’t help it, and he wanted to scream at himself for it, but he could feel his insides getting wetter, urging to be fucked, ready for something to be moving in them. “.. In that case, why don’t ya.. Keep goin’..” Hanzo could hear the slight nerves shining through in his voice, but he had no objections. The grip on his wrist loosened but didn’t disappear, and he worked his fingers quickly in himself. 

 

He took note of two things during the short time it took him to make himself cum. The first one was that Jesse was holding his breath, listening for any and all noises that could be heard throughout the mostly silent room. The second is that his other hand moved curiously down to between his legs and he was nearly rutting against it, no shame in him at all. 

 

His breath quickened so much he felt like he was suffocating, but the third thing he took note of is that every time McCree got close, he’d stop. He’d wait. He’d calm down a bit and start again shortly, teasing himself in a way Hanzo had no control to do. “Ya.. Sounded so nice,” he said, moving his hand from his dick to run it along Hanzo’s side,  still a little nervous. Clearly the both of them had something they wanted from each other.

 

“Did you.. You watched me. Did you enjoy it?” The question was so nervous that Jesse almost chuckled a little. He didn’t feel as scared anymore, because if Hanzo wasn’t as confident as normal then he didn’t have to be either.

 

“Ya looked amazin’, darlin’.. I wish I could see what’s in those nice soft boxers of yers. Wish I could make ya cum myself.” This was happening, Jesse thought. He was openly hitting on Hanzo, he was openly talking about how much he wanted Hanzo. Hanzo was taking it well. Lip bitten and hands nervously moving to grab Jesse’s, one hand still full of cum and the other moderately clean. “What were you thinking about?”

 

There’s no answer at first, but when he gets it, Jesse swears it’s the sweetest damn sound in the world. “I thought about you.” He tried to stop there, but Jesse was looking at him, scanning him for answers he needed to hear. “I was thinking about you  _ inside  _ me. You’re nosy.”

 

“Can ya really blame me? This is the fourth night in a row ya gotten off to burying yerself in whatever ya could of me. How in the hell am I not supposed to find that incredibly irresistible?” When Hanzo didn’t answer, Jesse pulled him closer. “Besides, darlin’.. Why think about it when I could give you what you want?”

 

Hanzo had to swallow hard. He couldn’t think, and he couldn’t talk, but what he could do was move Jesse’s hand down to the place he’d been thinking about it in for the entire nearly two weeks he’d been there. There was a brief moment where he forgot what was there, until he felt the hand almost searching him, looking for something not there. Jesse didn’t ask about it. His hand moved from curious touches to slipping his fingers in the waistband, looking to Hanzo for any signs to stop, face questioning is this okay, and all Hanzo could do was whimper out a little ‘please’. And if that wasn’t enough to get him going, the fact that Hanzo moved Jesse’s hands down his underwear himself  _ was _ . 

 

His hand worked at the little ball of flesh there softly, all nerves and tingling and Hanzo was jolting a little with each motion, and soon enough Jesse McCree was over top of him and grinding down against him as he was rubbing. “What d’ya think about the idea of me fuckin’ ya?” It sounded smoother in his head than it came out.

 

“I think I would enjoy that more than I can explain.”

 

It didn’t take long for either of them to undress, hands running along the other’s body and grabbing at hair and skin and anything they could reach. Their lips were smashed together in an awkward heat of needing to be kissed and wanting to just whisper things into each other’s mouths. Neither of them took the time to explain how long they’d been pining for this. Neither of them took the time to explain that they’d been waiting for this for days, that this was the reason their conversations were so short and careful recently. Trying not to talk about how much you wanted to shove your dick in someone was hard, Jesse thought. Pun intended.

 

Jesse made a point of making sure that when he rubbed down against Hanzo, his dick slide between the folds of his cunt, not enough to push in him but enough to make him whine, enough to make him  _ beg  _ and that was one of the prettiest sights Jesse had seen. He looked good, he looked so good, flushed and ready to start whining and crying at any second. He pushed in slowly, making sure to keep check of the other’s expression, the soft sun hitting them as it was rising and bringing a soft glow in the room. And Jesse thought as far as first times went, this one was pretty special. When he fucked Hanzo, he made it hard, he made it loving, he made it everything Hanzo asked for, not stilling in him until both of them were completely satisfied and out of breath and he collapsed on Hanzo. Tonight, he’d sleep. Rather, today, he’d sleep.

 

They didn’t bother to clean up before they went to sleep, tucked against each other and nestled tight.

 

When the two of them eventually woke up (around 2 PM, Jesse noted), it was mostly shy glances. Wondering eyes and curious hands, trying to remember everything from the night before. They didn’t want to forget. When Jesse went to make food without cleaning up (to which Hanzo groaned, because he wanted help showering), he told him to come down whenever. And after thirty minutes, he found Hanzo at the end of the hallway, hair wet and wrapped in one of the few clean blankets not being used on the bed. 

 

“That’s a look for ya.”

 

Hanzo shot him a look, and all he could do was laugh. Jesse couldn’t help but think that maybe if this is how things stayed, that would be okay. Hanzo, in the back of his mind, couldn’t help but agree.


End file.
